


a handful of pills

by peachsneakers



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Cuddling, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders Is A Good Friend, Deceit | Janus Sanders is a Mess, Depression, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Overdose, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Sympathetic Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Sympathetic Deceit | Janus Sanders, The others aren't unsympathetic exactly but they are kind of jerks at first, throwing up, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:35:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28120980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachsneakers/pseuds/peachsneakers
Summary: Who will speak for Thomas if he's not here? Who will preserve Thomas's well-being, if not him?Janus isn't sure that he cares anymore.
Comments: 26
Kudos: 160





	1. Chapter 1

Janus sits down at his desk. He can hear the others outside if he strains his ears, hear the argument that he inadvertently walked into and promptly walked back out of. He doesn't need to hear it to know what it's about.

Him. Again. Is he _really_ looking out for Thomas? Does he _really_ have Thomas's best interests in mind? He's _Deceit_ , after all. He could just be playing the long con. An impostor amongst crew mates. A snake freshly sprung from the Garden of Eden itself. Doesn't he realize that's what the scales that dot half his face symbolize? His gloved fingers brush his face, sliding over the cold, smooth texture.

Janus blinks.

His desk is a mess, and he doesn't know why. When he sat down, it was pristine. Wasn't it? But now the ink bottle has splotches of ink trailing down the side, and the stationery in front of him is stained with tears and there's a broken pencil just _there_ , and he doesn't remember snapping it in half but when he lifts his glove up, there's a smear of graphite across the yellow.

_I am not the villain_ , lies trapped in his throat, aching to snarl and groan and force its way past his teeth. _Your hatred does not belong to me, I will not be the lightning rod for your problems anymore,_ lies another. But they won't listen. He's already well aware of that. He's tried his best before, and it's all come to nothing. It's just... Nothing.

Who will speak for Thomas if he's not here? Who will preserve Thomas's well-being, if not him?

Maybe they should come up with the answers to those questions by themselves for once. Janus rises from his desk, feeling eerily calm. All of his emotions have dissipated and seem to be floating several inches to the left. He shivers, but he's not cold. Or is he? He tugs a glove off to check and sees purple blooming in his nail beds. It doesn't matter. He'll either be cold forever or warm for eternity, and at the moment, choosing sounds about as exciting as rolling over for the next side to emotionally pummel him. He doesn't _care_.

His thoughts skitter toward Remus and just as quickly, drift away. Remus will be fine. Ironically, he's having a much easier time of acceptance than Janus ever has. Perhaps it's because he's Roman's brother. Perhaps they've recognized they need both halves of Creativity, that it is all their fault that one Creativity no longer reigns over Thomas's imagination in the first place. He doesn't mind if guilt drives their actions, if it means that Remus will be accepted.

_Something's wrong,_ he thinks, but the thought holds no alarm. The voices are quieter now outside his door, making it easier for him to slip out.

"What do _you_ want?" Someone demands. He's not even sure who.

"A bath," he says calmly, barely hearing himself speak. Apparently even the others don't feel it appropriate to deny him a task of basic hygiene, for the voice falls silent, and Janus is able to proceed, unhindered, into the bathroom. He closes and locks the door behind him, the metal chilling him through his gloves.

He runs the bath, but his focus isn't on the hot water slowly filling up the tub. It's on the medicine cabinet. He opens the cabinet door freely, carelessly, letting bottles of pills spill into his hands. They don't keep much (they don't _need_ much), but he's done enough of his own research before to know that it doesn't take much. You can take too much of _anything_ , really.

He just has to hope that it works quickly enough that no one becomes suspicious.

Is he melodramatic, choosing to end things in the others' bathroom? Perhaps. Does he care that someone will inevitably walk in on him, when they grow tired of his taking up space in the bathtub? Not really. Not unless it's Remus. He desperately hopes it isn't Remus, so much so that it nearly breaks through the blanket of apathy he's become so unwillingly swaddled in.

The pills taste awful. He pops in a full handful, barely even swallowing. If he chokes, then he chokes, and wouldn't that be ironic, choking to death on the instrument of his own suicide?

He should be worried about that, too. He should be worried about a lot of things. He should be worried about the dust on his tongue, about the way the water's about to overflow the bathtub (he should turn that off before he floods the bathroom). He should be worried by how everything is still persistently to the left, how he can't make himself _care_ , how he can't make himself _stop_.

Instead, he strips off his gloves and folds himself to the ground in a clatter of empty pill bottles. Behind him, the water slowly tips over the edge of the tub, trickling toward him in a steady, persistent stream. Janus closes his eyes. He feels like he's going to throw up, and even _that_ isn't enough to pierce the fog surrounding him.

The water reaches him. It's almost painfully hot, reddening his skin and soaking his clothes. For another moment, he just sits there, dozy, his mind thick with clouds.

Then it breaks, all at once, and the realization of what he's just done crashes into his brain with all the subtlety of Remus's last rampage through the mind palace. 

"Oh no," Janus whispers, watching the water seep past him, puddling on the tile and soaking the tiny edge of carpet he can see flush against the door. Pill bottles bob in the flow, and nausea surges. He scrambles back, hands splashing in the heat, to scrabble up the lid of the toilet. Throwing up _hurts_ , but he doesn't care, more than willing to jam his fingers down his throat if he has to. What did he _do?_ What was he _thinking_? He can't-

He shouldn't-

A clamor at the door now. Someone must have noticed the water. Too many voices, a jumble of voices, all sharp with irritation and hot with concern. Janus waves a tired hand at the door, unlatching it. He knows what a pitiful picture he looks, soaked in water and curled up over a bowl of his own vomit. His mouth tastes sour. 

" _JANUS_ -" Remus's voice, screeching high above the others, the one voice he didn't want to hear.

"I'm fine, Remus," he tries to say, but this has all finally become too much, and he slides slowly into unconsciousness, barely even noticing when the tap turns off and the only sound in the bathroom is Remus's desperate sob.


	2. Chapter 2

Janus doesn't want to wake up.

He's lying on something soft, surrounded by warmth, and he doesn't want to wake up because what if this is all a dream, what if he's still-

Where?

His head hurts. His mind is full of fog as he dizzily tries to piece together the events before he...fell asleep?

But did he fall asleep?

He doesn't-

He can't-

A tiny noise of distress escapes his throat and suddenly, someone is there, smoothing his hair back from his forehead and gently cupping the scaled half of his face.

"It's okay," the person says. Remus. He sounds like he's been crying and guilt stabs Janus, sharp and cold. "It's okay, Jan, don't worry, I'm here."

He forces his eyes open. His vision is blurry at first, but returns slowly. Remus's face swims into view and Janus's guilt stabs even harder, because Remus is crying. He's never seen Remus cry before and god, does he wish that still remained true.

"Janus?" Remus whispers. His voice is shaking. "Are you with me?"

"Yeah," Janus croaks. His throat is raw and speaking feels like he's gargled broken glass. Tears burn the corners of his eyes. "You- I'm sorry." Remus's brows scrunch together in a confused wrinkle.

"Sorry?" Remus repeats. "Jan Jan, why are you sorry? You didn't do anything-"

"I tried to _overdose_ , I'd say I did something wrong," Janus interrupts him, his voice too harsh. He hears a gasp somewhere in the room and winces. Too caught up in his desperation to reassure Remus, he totally forgot that there was an excellent chance they weren't alone.

"You didn't," Remus insists. His eyes are puffy and red-rimmed and god, it hurts seeing how downcast he is, not even a single finger wiggle or shoulder shimmy to be seen. He's not used to Remus being so _still_. "You were hurting, JJ. That- that doesn't mean you did something _wrong_."

"I'm so stupid," Janus hisses, self-deprecation battering him in waves. Remus shakes his head fiercely and takes one of Janus's hands in his. Only then does Janus realize he's not wearing his gloves.

"Never stupid," Remus avows. "We all know I'm the resident dumbass around here." Janus shakes his head in wordless denial. Remus leans closer, close enough for Janus to smell the cologne he likes to drink. Salt traces down one cheek as Janus waits, breath caught in his throat.

"You almost died," Remus whispers. He's shaking now, and Janus wants to comfort him, wants to do _something_ , anything, but he can't move, can't even force himself to lift a hand and place it against the brooding warmth of Remus's cheek. "What if- what if we hadn't noticed the water? What if we hadn't gotten through the door? What if you hadn't thrown up? What if you- what if-" 

"But you did," Janus manages to say weakly. "You did, I'm so sorry, Remus, I didn't- I don't know what came over me-"

"Bullshit," a new voice says, sharp and thin with concern. To no one's surprise, Virgil appears, shoulders hunched and spindly fingers fretting over a fidget toy. "You didn't OD on pills for no _reason_ , Janus."

"Would you have me speak the truth then?" Janus asks. He wants to sneer, but can't quite manage it. "Would you like to hear that I heard you all, arguing about me yet again? Would you delight to know that I got _tired_ of it? That it seems no matter what I do- no matter how I apologize, no matter how hard I try to make things right- it's not enough and it never will be? Would you like to hear how much it hurts, knowing your acceptance is conditional and always has been? That you have all accepted Remus as one of you long before you could even _think_ to offer the same to me? Go ahead, then. Gloat. I don't care. I don't know what I was thinking, vomiting it all back up. One last vestige of self preservation, I suppose. I'll have to squash it next time. Is _that_ what you want to hear?"

"Janus?" Remus asks in a terrified, trembling voice and Janus's anger cools as soon as it has appeared, his heartbeat drumming a frantic tattoo against his ribs as he turns back to Remus.

"I'm sorry," he says, yet again, knowing how pitiful the words are. How little they mean. "I didn't mean-"

"Yes, you did," Virgil interrupts him, and now his voice is wavering. "Don't- don't word vomit all your emotional problems and then pretend you didn't, Janus, that-" He swallows, licking dry lips. "I don't want to _gloat_ , god, I just- I'm an asshole, okay? I know we have- have baggage, and it's not- it's not easily resolved, but I don't- _god_ , Janus, I don't want you to _kill_ yourself."

"If you'd prefer, I can slowly go mad until I have the mental capabilities of a carrot," Janus offers. He's only half-joking. Virgil gives him a sad look.

"I'd _prefer_ that you _talk_ about what's wrong instead of trying to flood the mind palace and taking all the pills in the medicine cabinet," Virgil says. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for taking my shit out on you, I'm sorry for not trying to resolve it like adults when it's pretty damn clear Thomas needs _all_ of us, I'm just- I'm sorry. I know that's really pathetic and not nearly enough, but it's all I've got right now." He wraps his arms around himself, fidget toy held loosely in one hand.

"Jan Jan, please don't hurt yourself again," Remus whispers. "I don't- I can't do this without you, JJ, I really can't. Please-"

"I promise," Janus says without realizing what he's about to say because he can't handle the hurt entangled in every word, he can't stand to see Remus sad, not like _this_. 

There is a pause, then Remus lunges at him, and Janus finds himself with a lapful of sobbing, shaking Remus. He shoots a helpless glance at Virgil over Remus's shoulder. 

"I'll uh, I'll get the others," Virgil, the coward, says. "They wanted to be here, but thought you'd panic if everyone stayed, so I said I'd get them when you woke up."

"Did you know you threw up blood?" Remus asks the crook of Janus's neck.

"No," Janus admits. He doesn't really remember what happened in the bathroom. It's almost like it happened to somebody else.

"This isn't gonna get fixed in a finger snap, is it," Remus says. It's not a question, not really, but Janus shakes his head, anyway.

"No," he says. "It- it's not."

"But you'll try?" Remus persists, pulling away from him a little. "You- you won't just-"

"I'll try," Janus says.

"I'll make the others try, too," Remus says. "I- I think Virgil will, too."

"I think you're right," Janus says, and is startled to realize that it's the truth. Exhaustion has begun to weigh on him again, trying to pull him back into its depths, but he ignores it in favor of draping a hand over Remus's back and rubbing soothing circles into it.

"You know I love you, right?" Remus asks, peering into his face. "You're my best friend."

"You're mine," Janus murmurs.

"You know I'll rip out half a kidney with my fingernails if you try this again?" Remus asks. Janus manages a watery chuckle, though he knows Remus is only partially joking.

"I know," he says. 

Virgil returns then, others trailing him like a herd of lost ducklings. Patton looks like he's been crying for hours. Even Logan's eyes are a little red-rimmed, and that gives Janus pause.

"I'm sorry," Patton blurts out. "I- I'm the one who keeps having trouble with black and white thinking, and I- but I never-" He hiccups as Virgil rests a calming hand on one of his shoulders.

"I must apologize, too," Roman says. His normal bluster is blown out, leaving behind only ashes. It leaves a sour taste in Janus's mouth. "I have behaved more beastly than princely, and I- I should have learned the error of my ways from how we treated Virgil."

"And I am sorry," Logan chimes in. "I have never seen you as lesser, or like you are not an important side of Thomas, but I have not treated you thusly. You have every right to be upset with me. Virgil explained what you said, and I-" He pauses, his throat bobbing. "I'm sorry," he finishes, helplessly repeating himself. 

"Don't be dicks," Remus says bluntly.

"To Remus, either," Janus says, knowing Remus won't. Remus gives him a funny look, one that Janus promptly ignores in favor of rubbing more soothing circles into the small of Remus's back.

"Are you feeling better, Janus?" Logan asks. "I wasn't entirely sure what to do, Google only told me so much-"

"Yes," Janus assures them. "I feel as weak as a newborn kitten-"

"A zombie newborn kitten," Remus chimes in.

"-but otherwise, I feel all right," Janus says. "Um...my throat is dry?" Remus conjures a glass of water as easily as blinking, rolling off Janus to the side so he can sit up a little and drink without fear of choking. The water is cool but not cold, and flows delightfully down his abused throat. As soon as he's done, Remus curls into his side, one arm thrown possessively over his chest. It makes him feel warm down to his toes, like he's drunk an entire mug of the frothiest hot chocolate, complete with bobbing marshmallows.

"Wanna watch a snake documentary, Jan Jan?" Remus murmurs, stroking his hair back. Janus nods sleepily, surprised when the others conjure chairs.

"Is- is this all right?" Patton asks, struck by a bout of nerves. Janus smiles, drowsy.

"It's perfect," he hisses. " _Please_ stay."

Not a soul heads for the door, and Janus's mouth sags open in surprise. Virgil laughs a little, seeing the expression on his face.

"You absolute dork," Virgil says, and the affection in his tone is enough to bring tears to Janus's eyes. It's been _so long_ since he's heard that tone directed at him. 

It feels amazing. He takes a deep breath, stretches, flexes his fingers and toes just for the sheer pleasure of being able to _feel_ again.

Then he settles against Remus to watch the new snake documentary he's queued up, the others surrounding them.


End file.
